Inheritance Oneshots
by decemberclementine1999
Summary: Mainly following Nasuada and Murtagh during Inheritance when Nasuada is held captive in Urubaen
1. Nasuada's Pain

Nasuada looked up at the ceiling, following the patterns. She still burned from the irons, which Murtagh had so calmly punished her with under Galbatorix's jurisdiction. She squeezed her eyes shut, but the tears still slid out. A sob rose in her throat, and she shivered feverishly. The pain was too much. If she didn't get a grip then she could easily lose her resolve. Hate boiled in her stomach, all-consuming. Everything about Galbatorix she had to hate. Another exercise to deal with the pain was to remember the stories of everyone in the Varden and those still in the Empire and Du Weldenvarden, all those who had passed into the void. To remember the pain that he had caused. The monumental suffering. With-out that it would be all too simple to give in to his candied words and lies. She thought of Roran's father, Eragon's mother, Arya's father. Dead. Brom, the fallen riders More recently of Oromis. Nasuada reminded herself or the pure anguish she had felt when she had spoken with Glaedr. She thought of her own father. Of him carrying her on his shoulders through the streets of Aberon. Of him instructing her in basic sword craft and mind defence. She remembered every detail she could of her childhood. She thought of how she would never be a mother, and even if she was, he would never be there to see that. Ajihad hadn't seen her lead the Varden. Unbidden, she thought of Murtagh. Of how he hadn't had a happy life, of the scar down his back he had shown her in Farthen Dur, of the scar which she suspected was worse on his soul. She thought of Thorn, the dragon, forced to fight against the cause which held his species' interests best at heart. Of how every moment of his existence was spent in captivity. She knew from Saphira how much dragon's instinctively value their freedom. Nasuada thought about her army, and those who had already died for her cause; and she knew. She knew she had to keep fighting. A spasm of pain racked her body, and she felt bile clog in her throat, she tilted her head as far to the side as she could to avoid being covered in her own sick. Her mouth stung as she ejected the puke of the slab she was chained to. And she smiled, as she knew that her resolve would never fail.


	2. Murtagh's Remorse

Thorn was sleeping after another one of his magic induced growth spurts. Murtagh came back from the Hall of the Soothsayers, fell down upon his bed and sobbed. He beat his fists against his pillows in frustration. He couldn't keep doing this. Her screams kept replaying in his head along with Galbatorix's mocking laugh. He had to do something. If only he wasn't so weak he should have killed her back outside Dras Leona as was originally the plan. But of course he was an imbecile. Selfish. Just like his father. Morzan would have laughed. Murtagh lapsed into self-pity and hatred. Surely there was more to life than this? More to life than this endless cycle of destruction, pain and guilt. Nasuada filled his mind like a healing spell on a raw wound. He needed her, needed her love; and Galbatorix knew that. Which was why he was using him to torture her. So it would be impossible for her to ever see him as anything but evil. Murtagh wasn't evil; at least, he _thought_ he wasn't evil. But then, Galbatorix didn't think he was evil. Murtagh wanted to believe that, he wanted to believe Galbatorix's beautiful lie. He wanted to believe that by attacking the rebels he was improving the future of Alagaësia, he wanted to believe that the men and women he had killed brought it upon themselves by inciting this war against the Empire. Murtagh didn't want to do wrong. All he wanted was to be a clean slate. Start again. He wanted a childhood with loving parents and friends and an untroubled life. He was only just twenty for goodness sake! Only twenty and responsible for the murder of thousands… But what Murtagh needed was time alone with Thorn to reconcile himself with his deeds, that and freedom. And he dreamed of a warm rosy future with Nasuada. He dreamt of smiling children with straight black hair and light brown skin, who laughed and played without the troubles that their parents had had to deal with. That would never happen.

Murtagh stood up and walked over to his small window. He cursed and absent-mindedly ran his hand through his hair.

Murtagh wanted to believe what he was doing was right, but he couldn't. Truth be told, he was repulsed by himself, and everything that he had ever done. He knew from the resolution in Nasuada's pain filled, tear filled beautiful eyes, he knew from his _brother's _righteous little speeches, so full of bravery and valour, he knew from the way the Varden had attacked, he knew from the tales of that boy who was his cousin's fighting and love, he knew from his heart and from the moment he ended Oromis and Glaedr's body and thousands of other experiences.

Thorn stretched and yawned, showing of his ferocious ivory teeth.

Murtagh was filled with the overwhelming desire to forget, if only for a short while.

_Murtagh, I really don't think this is wise…_ Thorn intervened.

"Shut up! I would never have given in if it weren't for you, you hear me!" Murtagh screamed

"I wouldn't have killed so many, I would most likely have died, which would have been my only fucking release!" Thorn snarled, and leapt at his rider, pinning him to the ground.

_I didn't ask to hatch. Don't you dare blame your problems on me or I'll make you regret it._

"Okay, whoa okay. Thorn I'm sorry, just please let me go."

_Drinking won't end your problems._

"I'm only looking for a respite." Thorn growled menacingly then let him up. Murtagh swallowed, and walked out of his chamber to garner some strong alcohol from the guards.


End file.
